


Happy Ain't a Two-Story Victorian, But it Might Be This

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dean Winchester Tries, Episode: s14e15 Peace of Mind, Fake Marriage, Family Issues, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester Bonding, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: Sam and Castiel have been on a mission to an Arkansas hamlet, and they haven't checked in. When Dean and Jack trail them to a quiet street in Charming Acres, what they find is nothing like either of them expected. To be honest, cleaning out a nest of vampires might be easier than this, but Dean's going to give it the old college try.Whatever that means.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 81





	Happy Ain't a Two-Story Victorian, But it Might Be This

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen a few requests on Tumblr for a slightly canon-divergent version of what happened in Peace of Mind, and somehow I ended up with this. Plz to be forgiving me if this isn't quite in line with the events of the episode; my heart's too broken to re-watch it right now.

Dean looked up from the coffeemaker at the rattle of cereal into a bowl. Jack paused as their eyes met, his expression one of open puzzlement.

"Good morning, Dean," Jack said, enunciating the capitals until it sounded like the salutation on a letter, "are Sam and Cas home yet?"

Dean scooped his phone off the counter, waved it and slipped it into his pocket, then turned back to spooning coffee grounds into the filter. "Uh, no," he said, "I got a voicemail from Cas yesterday while you and I were on the road. But it's been crickets since."

And that was also the weirdest voicemail, might he add. Castiel demanded that he pick up or call, but wouldn't elaborate why. Dean wasn't exactly avoiding Castiel right now (or okay, he was but he wasn't going out of his way to avoid him. Much.) but he didn't much like being told what to do. As if they weren't all dealing with the heaviest crap right now.

Like the (potentially) soul-free, archangel-level powerful infant currently pouring milk on a bowl of Cookie Crisp.

"Have you tried calling them?" Jack asked. He folded in the pour spout on the milk carton.

Dean rolled his eyes where the kid couldn't see, and closed up the bag of coffee. "Tried calling. I tried texting. Nobody's picking up."

"Are you worried?"

The question slid under Dean's skin like a splinter. Jack's presence alone was enough to start a war between Dean and his internal cynicism. His straightforward questions seemed to peel back every pretense. Dean couldn't explain things to a child and hide from himself at the same time, and he hated it. He gave the coffee filter a shove into place and flipped the switch.

Of course he was worried. He lived in a frigging universe of worry, population (apparently) one. It wasn't exactly out of character for Sam not to check in every night on a hunt - usually meant it turned out to be benign, or boring. Still. "It's only been a couple days," Dean said, "bet they're on the trail."

Jack watched him. Dean tried a smile. Jack mirrored him, lips stretching in an expression that left the rest of his face untouched. He dug into his bowl of cereal.

The coffeemaker behind Dean gave a sucking gurgle. He jumped.

Jack's head jerked up at his sudden motion. They watched each other again in silence, across the kitchen island.

Dean reminded himself to breathe.

"Is there a reason why we can't go look for them?" Jack asked, in between crunching, "maybe they need help."

Because Dean didn't really want to spend another eight hours trapped in a car with Jack, being Dean's mirror and doing his weird uncanny valley bullshit? On the other hand, if Dean wanted to check on them, he couldn't exactly leave Jack here. Not on your life. Not after the cagey answer he got from Donatello. And God knows what he'd try to feed to Felix.

Sitting here not doing anything, waiting for a call to come in from Sam or Cas was maybe worse than being stuck in the car with Jack. He might be a little on the creepy side, but at least it was action. Focus. Something.

"You know what? You're right," Dean said, "finish your cereal. Then saddle up."

* * *

Dean and Jack froze in the doorway of the yellow two-story Victorian, backs to the fading sun, staring at a horror show of _Twilight Zone_ proportions.

"Can we help you?" Sam said, kind but businesslike, sporting a brown cardigan and a ponytail and looking at Dean through a pair of horn-rimmed glasses like he'd never seen him before in his life.

Castiel stood behind him in the foyer. He wore a blue-and-white vee neck sweater with a yellow floral shirt beneath, and his hand was on Sam's shoulder. Like backup. Like reassurance. He was the castle wall to Sam's portcullis, and if Sam slammed the gates down, he'd be pouring the boiling oil from the ramparts.

Dean looked from one to the other, mind still grabbing for purchase onto something - anything - that might make sense. If he didn't know them, he'd think it was a prank. And then Castiel shifted in the stab of sunlight coming through the open door, and something on that strategically placed hand glinted.

Gold.

A band.

A wedding band.

Dean's eyes went to Sam's hand before he put two and two together, like somehow his instincts did the math before his brain. And there it was - a matching ring.

"Are you okay?" Jack asked, "You didn't check in."

Sam's gaze fell on Jack. His smile faded with confusion. "Check in? I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong house," Sam said.

"No, we were looking for you," Jack insisted. Dean saw the worry come into Sam's eyes, and the steely suspicion slide into Castiel's. His heart in his throat, he clapped a hand onto Jack's shoulder to distract him from the staring match.

"Sorry," Dean said, "he's a little green. I'm Dean Wilson. This is Jack Cable. Arkansas State Patrol. We're looking into the disturbances here in Charming Acres. Either of you seen anything, or heard anything?"

Castiel's suspicion deepened. Trust him to be the guard dog. He moved a little further into view, and his arm slipped around Sam's waist. "Those are unusual accents for Arkansas," he said, voice and expression flat as a closed door, "we haven't heard anything. It's a quiet neighborhood."

Sam laughed. "It's a quiet town. That's why we moved in, right honey?"

Dean had been prepping himself for a staredown of epic proportions with Castiel. But at the sound of Sam's laughter, the tension just... unwound. Castiel looked up at Sam, smiled the way he'd smiled when he talked about Claire, and for a split second the two of them were each other's entire universe.

"We did," Castiel agreed. When his gaze returned to Dean, he was softer. Calmer. "I shouldn't judge, since I guess we're from up north. But I'm not sure how we can help."

"Actually, we're here to help--" Jack started. Dean squeezed his shoulder and forced a smile while he tried to jumpstart his own heart.

"Look, I'm real sorry to bother you," Dean said, "though we may be in touch later. Thank you both."

"Dean?" Jack asked.

"Pleasure," Sam said, and closed the door.

Dean and Jack stood on the porch a moment in silence.

"I don't understand," Jack said.

Dean swallowed, took another breath, and steered him down to the sidewalk. "I need a minute."

"Do you need me to leave?"

"No, dammit, just," Dean's jaw torqued so tight he thought he might crack a tooth, "get in the car. Let me think."

Jack cooperated. The Impala dipped on its shocks, and the passenger door slammed. The street was quiet.

Dean leaned his hip against the fender and crossed his arms. All right, game face. So this was obviously mind control. Something was messing with their heads. At least they were safe - no, at least they were alive. Safe would be for when he made sure they were still them. Hopefully whatever baked their noodles hadn't played fast and loose with their memories. The blank, polite way Sam looked at Dean made him want to punch walls.

They'd been able to shake things like this before. 

Not gonna lie, the married thing was a new angle.

Roommates, sure. Brothers, yeah - although Dean got a little spiky thinking about that, especially while Sam didn't recognize him.

But married?

If they got their memories back - WHEN, when they got their memories back - he'd give them the ribbing of their lives. He might let them live this down, but it was going to be months. Years, maybe.

One thing was for sure. He needed more information. 

Over his shoulder, a light snapped on. Dean looked back, up at the porch they'd just left, where lights had come on inside the twilight house. He saw Sam and Castiel in the big bay window, silhouetted by the rectangle of warm light.

They were dancing. A little spin.

Sam had to stoop to get under Castiel's arm.

Dean wondered how long they'd been like this. Like, _how_ long.

Dean rubbed his eyes and gave his head a hard shake. Nope. Not thinking about it. He reached for the door handle.

* * *

A week later, sitting at opposite ends of a picnic bench at a rest stop on the Interstate, Sam and Castiel filled in the blanks.

Back when Dean pictured this moment, he thought he'd enjoy it more.

Back when he thought they'd be embarrassed, instead of whatever this was.

Sam's hands worked themselves into a knot. "The last thing I remember, Cas--" he said the name like handling glass, "--found these letters, in the vic's room in Mrs. Dowling's boarding house. The next morning I went for a walk. Then I woke up yesterday in the diner with a migraine and Cas's head in my lap."

"I went after him," Castiel said, "and we found a man on the street, like the first one." He rubbed the pale outline where - until a few minutes ago - he'd still been wearing a wedding ring. He didn't know where it came from. Or where the sweaters came from, or the house. The pair of wedding bands sat together in the middle of the picnic table now.

"Sam said his name was Justin," Castiel continued, "He didn't--" he looked at Sam, "you recognized me. You told me you'd been looking for me everywhere; that I'd gone out without leaving a note. I remember - being confused. Worried. You took my hand. And that's all."

"You don't remember when Jack and I showed up?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head slowly. "I do? Kind of? But it feels different. Like it's a movie I watched. Not my memory."

Castiel folded his hands, mimicking Sam. He nodded, once. "I feel the same."

Dean rubbed his jaw, trying to work out the tension from the last few days. If it took them any longer to get to the bottom of things, he'd have needed some new teeth. "Chip really pulled a number on you. Psychics, man. I was two seconds from darting you like a grizzly."

Sam pushed a hand through his hair. "At least he can't do it to anyone else now. And Sunny doesn't seem like a threat." The daughter of the old psychic hell-bent on turning Charming Acres into _Pleasantville_ hadn't exactly been grateful, but she'd been kind. Busy seeing to her incapacitated father. Busy dealing with a town full of confused, lost souls - people who didn't belong there any more than Sam and Castiel. Dean didn't envy her, but he didn't offer to help. They had plenty going on as it was, and they'd already gotten sucked into one stressed person's fever dream. One was more than enough for a lifetime.

"Wish I could've given her Missouri's number, though. Or Pamela's," Dean said, touching the little twinges of pain to center himself, "but I think she mostly just wants out of that town. Some kind of normal."

Silence dropped on the table with a nearly audible thud. Under normal circumstances, now would be the time to start the ribbing about those wedding rings in the middle of the table - but everything was wrong. Sam looked destroyed, Castiel looked panicked, and the pair of rings seemed like a memorial instead of a pair of leftover props.

Whatever it was, they were still getting over it, and Dean didn't know what to do.

He thought about how they'd been when Dean and Jack first pulled into town. Their clothes were a joke right out of a Fifties Sears catalog, but Dean wasn't laughing. He'd seen the slope of Sam's shoulders. The easy smile. The kindness that came out of him when he wasn't thinking up the thousandth self-sacrificial way to save the goddamned world.

And Castiel looked so sure of himself. Suited up in confidence like a knight on a charger. Castiel, who needed an angel way above his paygrade to control him and still managed to break free.

They'd looked happy.

Dean got to his feet. "This is one for the record books. Glad things were back to normal with you once Sunny locked the old guy down. Normal as you two nerds ever get."

Sam and Castiel's eyes dropped to the table, to their hands, and then to the rings, almost in tandem.

Dean thought about the big bay window in the yellow two-story Victorian. The way Sam bent to let Castiel spin him around.

He gave Jack's shoulder a nudge. "Hey kid, time to roll out."

Jack's head popped up from where it had been pillowed on his arms. "I get to come with you? I thought Sam would want to do that." He scrambled to untangle himself from the picnic bench.

Dean shot a glance at Sam, who looked back at him with eyes somewhere between hopeful and terrified. Dean held up a finger, then turned his attention back to Jack.

"Yeah, the way you kept those guys off me in the diner? You earned shotgun. And a double bacon cheeseburger and a shake if you want it - anywhere but Harrington's. Just uh, give me a minute. I'll catch up."

Jack's gaze swept the picnic bench, going from Dean to Castiel to Sam in succession, and Dean knew he wasn't fooling anyone. Least of all the (potentially) soul-free, archangel-level powerful infant who looked about three-going-on-three-thousand right now.

Jack smiled. And this time, it touched his eyes. "Sure, Dean," he said, and left them alone.

Dean watched him go, then turned back to the pair of morons sitting a prim, tucked-in six feet apart like they were vying for Head Boy at Hogwarts.

"Look, I'd rather yank out my own guts with a salad fork than say this to you - but I'm guessing something happened back there that you guys need some time with. Whatever happened," Dean's hands splayed out in a quelling gesture, "and I don't need the details - you looked. I don't know. Contented? Happy? And we don't get a whole lot of that in this business, and I mean, if you're going to pick someone, at least pick someone in the life."

Dean palmed his face. "Man, this isn't my business, just. I see you trying to pretend it didn't happen, but I've had some run-ins with the djinn. And honestly. The best way to beat this kind of stuff is realize what you wanted, and go after it if you can. That's all."

It took about the last of Dean's courage for the day to pry his eyes off the picnic table. When he did look up, and caught Sam's eyes, he didn't regret the risk.

Castiel got up from the table. Without speaking, he pocketed the wedding bands and came around to touch Dean's shoulder.

"I'll go say goodbye to Jack," Castiel said, tipped his head and added, "please answer your phone, and I'll answer mine."

Dean swallowed something between a laugh and a sob. It wasn't exactly forgiveness, but it was the thing they'd gotten comfortable with. "Ten-Four," he answered.

Sam was a long time about looking at Dean, too busy watching Castiel's retreating back as he walked up to the Impala. When their eyes met at last, Sam looked panicked. Dean remembered the times he'd caught Sam stepping out of line when they were kids. The fear of exposure. Of rejection. It didn't matter if it was sneaking out to see a midnight movie or filling out a college application - Sam always looked like this time must be it. The End. Capitalized and underlined.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," Sam said, "but thank you. For getting us out of there."

Dean pushed his hands into his pockets. "You didn't mean for what to happen, exactly? You to get sucked into an apple-pie fantasy? Dude, the house, the family, the freaking fireplace - you've been chasing that dream since you were five. We both have. I get it."

He hadn't meant it to come out quite so sharp, and wanted to belt himself in the mouth as he watched the defeat crawl across Sam's expression. Watched him duck in shame. "Look, I'm not mad. Honestly, Sammy. I'm gonna kill you both if you have a messy breakup, and I'm not gonna pretend this isn't weird for me. But I saw you be happy back there - and how many times are either of us gonna get a shot at that? The longer I thought about it, the more sense it made."

"Dean, I don't even know if that's what this is," Sam protested, "I was fake married to Cas for a week, and yeah it was nice, but that's not how you start a relationship with someone."

Dean quirked a smile and tipped his head. "For us though?" he said, wavering a hand in the air, "Isn't it though? Kinda? You gotta admit, the way this life is? And you're practically a monk. Or a virgin. Or both. Either way, you're bad at this."

"Better than you," Sam retorted with a snort.

"I'm not the one fake married to an angel for a week," Dean said, "and still trying to figure out if he's got a crush, so yeah. I'd say I'm better than you at this."

Sam stood up. Squared his shoulders like he was marching into war. Or at least something hard and possibly fatal. "It's not as easy as just going for it. Sure, I like him," he admitted, voice dropping into a shy murmur, "I was. I was happy. But that's me. Him, he's Cas. How do you even date an angel?"

The question drew a smirk out of Dean. As Sam approached him he turned, and the two of them walked abreast back to the parking lot. "Pretty sure it's easier than you think it is," he said, "at least you don't have to worry about making Jack a sister."

Sam let out a scandalized snicker. "Dean," he said, "come on."

"Just promise me one thing," Dean said, "two things."

"Which are?"

"Don't take too long - if I find out you're in the Bahamas while I'm home babysitting the kid, I will find you, and I will end you."

Sam's chuckle of assent eased the last of the tension from the air. "Got it. What's the other thing?"

"You won't suddenly get puppy fever, bring a goldendoodle into the Bunker, name it something weird, dress it up and call it your 'son.'"

"That's--weirdly specific. But sure? No goldendoodles. Scout's honor." Sam sketched a two-fingered salute.

Castiel and Jack waited for them by the Impala, hands in the pockets of their coats in a posture so nearly identical that it made Dean smile. He could feel the terrible sense of an ending creeping up on him, and hated it. He clapped Sam on the back maybe a little too hard, and gave him a not-so-subtle push towards Castiel in the process.

"See you at home," Dean said, just to see Sam turn his way one more time.

Sam waved.

"Dean?" Jack asked, as they climbed into the Impala one more time, and Dean tried not to watch the pickup leaving the parking lot.

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking about the double bacon cheeseburgers. Does it have to be bacon? Pigs are very sensitive creatures. I like that bacon is salty, but it makes me feel. I don't know. Wrong, somehow."

Dean rolled his eyes and rubbed his chest, where his heart did a little double flip. He reached for his seatbelt. "No bacon. I'm officially outnumbered. We'll get you a salad. You like cheese, right? Tell me you like cheese."

Jack bobbed his head. "I like cheese a lot. Especially nacho cheese. It's really yellow."

He put the Impala in drive, and turned left as the pickup turned right. They'd figure it out from there. "Okay, I can get with nacho cheese. You ever had it on fries?"

"Is that good?"

Dean blinked hard and pulled his eyes away from the taillights vanishing in his rearview mirror. "Let's get you some, and you can find out," he said.

**Author's Note:**

> To my sastiel folks - I love you. Hang in there. We'll always have Harrington's.


End file.
